Tuesday December 13, 1977

I am very interested in the Plantagenets now. Oh, don't get me wrong - I'm not deserting the House of Windsor, but  I am captivated by my ancestor King Edward III and his offspring, John of Gaunt especially. I will have to see if anything factual on this guy is in the store at Leeds Library. I have rarely delved beyond the Tudors and 'Good Queen Bess', but now my curiosity has been aroused there's no stopping me.

Fat, poxy, 48 year-old Queen.

The Stuarts were all very well but who wants to read about a fat, poxy 48 year-old Queen who's had thirteen children none of whom survived to tell the tale?

Quiet evening. Saw a play on the BBC called 'Charades' by Lady Antonia Fraser. Quite good. Took a bath at 11 and then retired after a hot drink with Mum and Dad at the foot of the troublesome Christmas tree. Who would have imagined that a yard of bloody tinsel could cause so much ill-will and general brutal violence? The house last night resembled a National Front Christmas party, the type we see on Labour party political broadcasts these days.

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Tuesday September 13, 1977

Jacqui.

Jacqui phoned today and said she and Joy are coming up on September 23 for the weekend. They are staying at a flat in Leeds and she suggests we go out for a couple of nights on the town. I say it's a great idea and we had a pleasant chat about it. However, John (Grady) phoned from Rossendale this evening and said next weekend wouldn't be suitable for our visit to Lancashire, and could we make it the weekend after instead? All would have been fine but what about Jacqui coming from deepest Muswell Hill? John is undeterred and says she's only after my Hylda Baker body. We laughed. I think of Dave G. He'll never be able to get Sept 17 off. Oh God, I'm fed up with all this muddled arranging. John also said Noel would be free to join us on Sept 24 because he's going away with his fiance next weekend. We'll sort something out and I'll contact Jacqui tomorrow.

Tonight I sat and worked out the number of people descended from my grandparents John Wilson and Levinyer Wood. You may think it a silly thing to do but I'm interested. They have 35 descendants, 17 of them male; 18 female. They are all living too. They range from 58 years to one week old. I was the eighth grandchild and fifteenth descendant, and sixth grandson. Only 10 of the descendants bear the name Wilson today. The other 25 are Harwoods, Myers, Gadsbys, Williams, &c. They don't have as many descendants as King Edward III, but they haven't had the amount of time he's had. A proper little statistician aren't I?

Retired to bed at midnight.

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Friday August 26, 1977

Martyn and I paid a visit to Tony at Bradford Royal Infirmary this evening. The place stank of disease and rotting flesh and made me feel positively flat, but otherwise it was a joyful 45 minutes. We were joined at the hospital by Barry, Wendy, Anne, Georgina and other Smith vassals. We polished off Tony's grapes, Kit Kats and Bourbon biscuits.

Mum: Plantagenet blood.

At 8.30 Martyn, the ladies and I went on to the Hare & Hounds at Heaton. It was the usual tight squeeze but we had a laughable time. However, at 10.55 when Martyn and I went out for a bus our laughter turned to grimaces of devastation and horror. It was like the Nazi invasion of Czechoslovakia and the defeat of Leeds United by Sunderland at Wembley in 1973 all rolled into one. Precisely, no bus was to be had whatsoever. We legged it to Shipley and then paid £1 to a sombre taxi driver to bring us to Guiseley. Had an exchange of 'words' with Mum in her boudoir. She objects to Martyn using our home like a hotel. Mummy takes on an extremely fiery  and war-like countenance at times which I can only put down to the hot, Plantagenet blood in her veins. Blimey, when your great-uncle started the Wars of the Roses, a bit of aggression is bound to rub off isn't it?

Thursday August 25, 1977

Garter's letter ...

A letter in The Times from the Garter Principal King of Arms (Sir Anthony Wagner) on Dr Reid's recent letter, and a preposterous letter too, about everyone sharing descent from King Edward III. (I've stuck it here between these pages just in case you're interested at all.)

(Forgive me for not using real ink but I've mislaid my fountain pen again).

King Edward III indeed. Oh yes, I can remember my grandfather telling me tales of going round to see his grandad when he was a lad and sitting on his regal knee at Windsor or Sheen, or wherever his Majesty resided. Oh yes, you didn't realise, did you, that 'Ted', as he was affectionately known in the family, lived in Armley for many years?

           "Mr Edward Plantagenet III
            6, Corporation Street
            Armley
            Leeds."

On Sundays we always had to put on our best boots and flat caps and address him by his 'Sunday best' title of 'Edwardus, Dei Gratia Rex Anglae et Franciae et Dominus Hiberniae'. Oh he was such a down to earth little man,  who only pleasure in life was his three ounces of ready rubbed St Bruno tobacco and Auntie Elsie's jam roll. (Auntie Elsie is known to historians as 'The Fair Maid of Kent'. God only knows why.)

Monday August 22, 1977

Phoned Anne at Smith's to enquire about a couple of free tickets for Tony and myself for the 'do' at Annabella's on Wednesday. She managed to get me some.

Tony came over after tea with a letter from the Health Authority informing him of his interment at Bradford Royal Infirmary on the morning of August 24. This means no 'do' on Wednesday for him and no bank holiday trip for him and Martyn at the weekend. He suggested Martyn and I go to Annabella's instead. He left at about 7 o'clock.

We (the family that is) watched a Frankie Howerd film 'Up the front' which is ghastly. He is a brilliant comedian but the scripts they give him to perform with are rubbish. Bed at approx. 11pm.

PS. While reading 'The Times' today I saw a letter on ancestry which claimed that going back to 1066 each person can claim to have 700 million ancestors. I just cannot believe it. The writer (a Mr D. Reid) also claims that every Briton is descended from King Edward III. This is rubbish.

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Wednesday November 13, 1974

Edward III, born 1312. Glorious day, excluding the weather. Up with the larks at 7.30 and everyone thinks I'm mad when I insist on going into Bradford to see the Queen's progress through the city. Her Majesty last came here in 1954 so it's not every day that one receives the opportunity to stand about for four and a half hours in pouring rain making a fool of oneself. The Queen arrived at 10.15 and she came into my view fifteen minutes after her arrival. Dressed in peach coloured orange with a matching hat she looked beautiful. And beautiful isn't the wrong word here. On TV or in photographs one wouldn't say this 48 year-old woman looked 'beautiful' but when ones receives the opportunity to see her in the flesh, her radiance and fantastic complexion knocks all sense of reason out of one. Got a thorough soaking, and in order to dry out I went to Denny's and the warmth of WH Smith's. We decide to go for lunch together, and at 12 we meet her friend, Lucy, who shares a flat with Judith B, my passion in June/July. We are caught up in a crowd near the Town Hall and before we know what is happening we are in the midst of one of the Queen's 'walkabouts'. A massive crowd shrouds her from our view, but by leaping about at regular intervals I get a view of the Queen and can hear her voice as she speaks to people in the crowd. You can imagine how emotional Denny was. And even Lucy, who didn't look interested at first, went away with a brand new lease of life. The girls go back to work at 1pm and I wait outside the Town Hall (flying the Royal Standard) whilst the Queen lunches. At 2 a massive crowd is gathered to see the Queen's departure for Halifax. An unforgetable, fantastic day.

Home at 3 to devour six pancakes and see 'The Forsyte Saga' on TV... followed by an hour long soak in the bath. See a film which shows a woman giving birth in the opening scenes 'Silly Cow' or something, they called it. An appropriately crude title.

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